*Smack! Smack! Smack!*


    Three sharp blows from the ruler left Adrian''s palm red and stinging, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. He dared not let them fall, knowing well that his great-grandfather, a retired high-ranking military officer, despised tears. "A man can bleed, but he must never cry," the old man always said.


    Adrian knew that if he cried, the punishment would only worsen.


    The old man, stern and unyielding, asked again, "What did you do wrong?"


    Choking back his tears, Adrian''s voice trembled as he replied, "I shouldn''t have let Mom''s rtives in. If they hadn''te, Mom wouldn''t have been hurt. I promise it won''t happen again."


    Marshall, standing by with the ruler in hand, struck again. This time, Adrian received seven more blows, leaving his small hand swollen and red as a beet.


    Finally, the tears he had fought so hard to contain began to fall,rge and silent. He bit his lip to suppress any sound, fearful of letting his great-grandfather hear


    him cry.


    After a long pause, the sound of a cane striking the floor reverberated through the room, followed by the old man''s voice, filled with disappointment.


    "You failed to see the bigger picture. You were manipted, and it cost your family. Your father may be ruthless, but you are foolish!"


    Adrian bowed his head, remaining silent.


    The old man, his voice now calm, said, "Stay here and reflect. Rise only when you understand."


    ...


    Marshall entered the room.


    He ced the ruler down and began to massage the shoulders of the elderly man, who, despite his age, still had a sharp gaze.


    "Sir," Marshall implored softly, "it''s snowing heavily outside. If the young master stays kneeling out there, he''ll fall ill."


    The old man barked back, "What of it? Should he not be punished for his failures? He is to be the heir of the Montgomery family, yet he was yed like a fool."


    Marshall gently patted the old man''s back. "He''s just a child, only seven. In many ways, he''s already ahead of his peers. Give him time; he''ll grow."


    The old man scoffed, "A child?"


    "As the sole heir to the Montgomery family, age is no excuse. At his age, Lysander was already sitting in on family meetings. Yet here Adrian is, wasting time dallying around with women-it''s disgraceful!"


    "He''s been spoiled. Let him stay there!"


    ...


    As night deepened, Adrian finally copsed in the snow.


    Fortunately, Marshall had arranged for this, and as soon as Adrian fainted, he was brought inside. Both Western and traditional doctors attended to him, ensuring he suffered nosting harm.


    The next morning, Marshall updated the old man on Adrian''s condition and asked what should be done next.


    The old man, writing in his study, didn''t look up as he replied, "I don''t care. Once he wakes and recuperates, let him go wherever he pleases."


    Marshall was taken aback. Normally, the old man would continue to discipline Adrian for days, but this time he seemed to let it go so easily.


    The old man dipped his brush in ink, a hint of a smile on his lips. "I''ve realized that book learning alone isn''t enough. Personal experience is a far better teacher."


    With a forceful stroke, he painted a single character on the rice paper, the brushwork bold and vigorous. He then set the brush aside, his eyes gleaming. "If he is to understand human nature, he must first endure the cruelty of it."


    Marshall nced at the paper and understood immediately.


    The paper bore a single, powerful word: *Human*.


    The old man picked up his cane and headed toward the hall, calling over his shoulder, "Tell that boy Lysander toe back home. Enough with these antics."